


Starting over or whatever

by baku_midnight



Series: Hex: Ruin [5]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Alternate Universe - Office, Crimes & Criminals, Desk Sex, Established Relationship, Ex Sex, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:42:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26936065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baku_midnight/pseuds/baku_midnight
Summary: Everyone at the office has their suspicions about the mystifying and stolid new boss, but Dwight already knows him. Too well.
Relationships: Dwight Fairfield/Evan MacMillan | The Trapper
Series: Hex: Ruin [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1714105
Comments: 7
Kudos: 128





	Starting over or whatever

In the cramped space of the elevator, Dwight’s nose was nearly shoved up against a pair of wide, burly shoulders. Looking up too late from his tablet and coffee, he hadn’t noticed the pair of suits walk in, the two of them in a lopsided conversation where one spoke at a passionate pace and the other merely listened in stoic silence. The noisy one Dwight knew to be the floor director, Lazar, and the quiet one, he imagined, was the new company director. An email had been sent out announcing the latter’s arrival, the new recruit a well-to-do local businessman who recently lost his fortune in a scandal sealed behind NDAs.

Combined with the bitter scent of his coffee, Dwight could smell the new boss’s cologne—an expensive brand for sure—and the slight tinge of sweat between his shoulders. He backed silently up against the mirror of the elevator, pecking demonstratively at his tablet while trying to eavesdrop: Lazar was going on and on about new ideas, shifting the model, being mindful of trends, and a whole lot of other vaguely-inspiring nonsense, ignoring the third rider so hard, Dwight imagined he appeared merely a bespectacled fixture of the car. He was okay with it—as head of IT, he’d make himself known to the new director in due time—although, he had a sinking feeling he already was.

When the doors opened again, Dwight caught a glance of his new boss as he shot a curious look over his shoulder. His head and face were bald, his look fierce, and a huge scar imposed itself across half of his face. A subtle spark of recognition was in his unchanging look, one Dwight was well-accustomed to picking out. Dwight stood, breathless and unmoving in the elevator long enough to nearly miss his floor, wondering if he couldn’t just ride up and down the eleven storeys all day long instead of facing his what the work day had to offer.

***

“Evan MacMillan,” Feng announced while leaning over her phone, scrolling down the a page at the breakneck speed of a Gen Z, “heir to the fortune of MacMillan Manufacturing… it says his dad started the company in 1943, but then he disappeared and the stock went through the floor… also there was a huge collapse in a mine they owned, and like, over a hundred people died in it.”

“That! That must be it,” David pointed a square finger at the girl, which she countered with a raised eyebrow. “I’ll bet he did the mine collapse. He did the collapse to collect the insurance.”

“If he got a big insurance payout, why would he be working here?” Meg asked, arms crossed over her chest, kicking David’s shin under the table. He snatched her ankle, pulling it up onto his knee, laughing when she squirmed and wriggled away from his grip.

“The company would probably have to pay the families of all of the miners,” Adam pondered aloud between mouthfuls of salad, “that’s likely what put them in the black.”

Dwight listened peaceably, sipping another coffee. It was his third of the day: he only drank it when he was especially stressed out, as it tended to go right through him—he enjoyed the concept more than the flavour, or even the caffeine, to which he was largely immune, after years working in the classic office environment. But today was remarkably stressful, and no matter how many awkward self-talks he made in the mirror a few minutes ago, telling himself _it’s fine, it’s no big deal,_ he still found his leg bobbing tetchily without pause.

They were gathered for lunch at their usual table in the back of the breakroom, Dwight and his cohorts: David, who worked sales, Feng, who was in IT, Adam, who worked international relations, Meg, who did admin, and Dwight, who was head of IT. They ate together rather than with their respective work groups, acquainted by virtue of having been hired around the same time, and having grown into close work pals since. They were the lot of them currently discussing the new director’s mysterious past, and Dwight couldn’t blame them for being curious.

Everything about the man invited intrigue, from his look—huge and brawny in the body, bursting out of his old-fashioned suits, and frightful in the face, with a massive scar that trailed from his right eye to the bottom of his chin—to his demeanor. He was quiet and utterly serious: he hadn’t cracked a smile for any reason all day, so Meg had reported, as she not-so-subtly tailed him for the entire first half of the work day. He’d met with the heads of several departments, and then spent the rest of the morning behind closed doors with the board, one floor above Dwight’s.

“Why would he tank his own company, though?” Feng asked, picking the lettuce out of her sandwich and putting it aside, before taking a bite and talking through a mouthful of bread and deli meat, “they were worth a fortune. Pretty sure it was an _actual_ accident.”

“Okay, sure,” David gestured broadly with his hands, “but he’s into something shady. I mean, the bloke’s ghoulish as fuck, you gotta admit.”

Adam shushed him with a gentle hand on the arm. Dwight looked up to make sure no one heard them talking about the new boss in such a manner—the environment of Progressive Solutions Computing was a lot kinder than some of Dwight’s past workplaces, but it wasn’t so lax as to forgive open subordination, or, well, calling the new boss _a monster_.

“Probably killed a stripper,” Meg said, nodding sagely. Dwight huffed and shook his head.

“Oh, yeah! Or trafficking or something,” David said, “you know, like that famous guy, what’s-his-name…?”

Adam shrugged, wiping his mouth with a napkin, “My bet is something more white-collar. Insider trading? He could’ve dumped a bunch of shares right before the accident...”

“Why the NDA, then? If it were a money thing, it’d be public knowledge, surely,” David replied, waving a finger. His excited gesticulating had caused a few stray hairs to fall from their heavily gelled position in a neat wave atop his head. “I’m saying it’s a sex thing,” he insisted, leaning back in his chair.

Dwight chuckled and shook his head. He’d kept quiet save the occasional raised eyebrow or scoff, and David apparently noticed, and cuffed him on the shoulder. “What? What d’you think it is, then?”

“I don’t think it was embezzlement; he’s not the cheating type,” Dwight answered flatly. The stern face he’d encountered in the elevator belonged to a man more the sort to take what he wanted, upfront, rather than sneaking around in secret. MacMillan was intimidating, and not twofaced. He was bold, and didn’t hide it. Dwight explained as much to his cohorts, finding them all watching him intently by the end of his monologue.

“You seem to know a lot about ’im,” David commented.

Dwight flushed like a hydrant and looked down at his coffee. An unappetizing half-inch or less shimmered in the bottom of the mug. He probably sounded like a stalker with a crush, but the reality was…maybe worse. “No, I just…”

“Spill,” Meg insisted, poking him in the shin with her toe.

Dwight sighed. He might as well tell the truth: maybe living with the rather awkward part of his past would be easier with support from his friends. And so what if the news spread and ruined his career? It’d be another ex-employer to add to the _endless_ list on his resume, and it wouldn’t be the first thing MacMillan had taken from him.

“Well, he’s my ex-husband.”

“Ha!” David let out a laugh. The rest of the group was watching Dwight with eyes wide with shock, while David chortled and smacked Dwight on the back. “Hilarious. You surprise me, sometimes, mate.”

Dwight stared hard at his coffee, nervous smile on his lips. Shortly, David went quiet, and joined his companions in staring wide-eyed at him.

“You uh, you serious?” David asked, and with the tiny nod of confirmation from Dwight, threw back his head with a groan. “ _You_ , though? How is that…?” He dragged a hand down his face. “I mean, no offense, but…”

Dwight chuckled awkwardly. “I know. It’s fine.”

Meg spoke up next, and Dwight swallowed hard. He feared her penchant for office gossip almost more than Feng’s devotion to social media. Maybe this was a terrible idea. Hopefully, if the story got around, most would react with the same disbelief as David did.

“How’d you two meet?” Meg asked, twirling the end of her braid around her finger as she stared at Dwight.

“It’s ridiculous, but…we were kidnapped together,” Dwight whispered, scratching at his five o’clock shadow, which had shown itself at noon, no doubt the result of stress. “These guys came by in a van and shoved him in it, looking to demand ransom money from his dad. I was just delivering pizza nearby—for extra income, y’know? It was before I got promoted—and they picked me up too, because I witnessed it.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely pulling our legs,” David said, crossing his arms over his chest and blowing the curl off of his forehead.

Dwight shrugged. It did seem like nonsense, in every sense of the word. But how else would two people from such different backgrounds, such different worlds be able to meet? They’d sat in the back of the van, handcuffed and with guns pointed practically up their noses all evening long, while MacMillan insisted no harm come to the innocent deliveryman who’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Dwight remembered looking up at MacMillan’s remarkably stoic face and thinking he’d must’ve gone through this before—being threatened and extorted, that is—if not _often._

“I remember him being so calm, and I just thought, well, he was so gentle, and handsome—” Feng made a face like she’d tasted something bitter upon hearing that, though Meg made a curious tilt of the head—“I wanted to know more about him,” Dwight explained, “it was probably just the adrenaline, you know?”

It was so stupid, really. His life being in danger probably kicked his mating impulse into overdrive, that’s all it was. They were literally _thrown_ together, like a pair of dice, shaken up and pushed to their limits. Dwight remembers being screamed at and having a gun pointed at him, and that not even being the scariest part: it was the humiliation of having been so easily captured. The criminals barely had to _look_ at him and he was cowering. He could’ve put up some kind of resistance... All he could think about was the story his parents would have to read in the news, later, about his ridiculous demise.

He remembered his hands being bound behind his back for four hours—it’d felt a lot longer, like days, weeks even—and his shoulders aching awfully. He’d regretted not going to the gym consistently and actually getting in good enough shape to _run_ when he’d spotted the van pulling up behind MacMillan’s Maserati and four armed, masked creeps emerging. He’d watched MacMillan with curiosity and admiration of his stoicism. Stoic, Dwight was not—his feelings showed on his face like a film on a mile-high movie screen.

He swirled his coffee aimlessly. His coworkers, to his slight surprise, were still watching him intently, apparently looking for more.

“We, um,” Dwight continued, quietly, “they let us go pretty quick. Evan—er, MacMillan,” he corrected, “had a thing on his phone that told the police where we were. We gave out statements, the guys were arrested, and we went our separate ways… I called him the next day for a date. It was…”

“It was what?” Meg asked, fully engaged with the tale. Dwight was nearly flattered by the attention. It felt good to be special— _had_ felt good to be special, to be special _to_ someone. When that feeling had started to fade, well, he’d known the end was nigh.

“It was incredible, honestly,” Dwight sighed. It was the first and last time he’d made the first move. The only girlfriend he’d had in high school had asked _him_ out to the mid-term dance; ditto with the boyfriend in college who’d lasted about eight months in total. But with MacMillan, it felt…once-in-a-lifetime. “We dated for a year before we got married—neither of us proposed; we just…decided. Together.” He remembered the proposal, which was more of a conversation, in the middle of a day of chores or something otherwise utterly unromantic, and involved no admissions of love or devotion, but was clear in its intent just the same.

“I don’t believe it,” David continued to shake his head, arms crossed firmly over his chest. “I mean, not callin’ you a liar, it’s just so…unbelievable.”

“I know,” Dwight chuckled. “I can hardly believe it, myself.”

“So, then what happened?” Feng asked this time, her phone, incredibly, placed face-down on the table.

Dwight took a deep breath. He remembered the grim look on Evan’s face, how he took to private meetings behind closed doors more and more often. How he shut the door in Dwight’s face, clammed up when questioned and looked actually affronted that Dwight would want to share in the details of his business, like a spouse might. Then, the rumours began to spread like a disease, rumours of his father’s horrible, violent fate, and the writing started to appear on the wall. Arguments between them were low and simmering rather than wild and fiery—Dwight almost would’ve preferred a death in fire to the slow, painful searing he got instead.

“Turns out he’s a selfish asshole,” Dwight replied, declining to further elaborate. “We divorced after a year; clean split, we’d never shared anything, because, well, selfish asshole.”

Lunch ended and Dwight returned to work, minding his every step. He wondered how long it would take rumours to spread about him: when it got out that Nea from tech was seeing one of the delivery drivers, Yui, the news spread within a day, with even those unacquainted with either sharing the story. He sighed and sat at his desk, typing mindlessly into a spreadsheet while he awaited hell breaking lose, but nothing happened. Maybe he could trust Meg more than he thought. Near the end of the day, he was finally invited to MacMillan’s office.

Dwight stepped inside, trying to maintain a stance as dispassionate as MacMillan was evidently holding when Dwight let the door close behind him. The director looked a part of the elegant furniture, so stiff and broad was he, his shoulders wide and his hands clasped at the base of his back. His expression was cool and unreadable, Dwight noted, as he allowed his gaze to flicker up just briefly to him.

“Head of IT, right?” MacMillan asked laconically, brow and lip furrowed. “I look forward to our business together.”

“Me, too,” Dwight answered plainly. This whole set-up felt so unnatural; they were the two of them so far beyond paltry introductions, after what had transpired between them. Dwight suddenly had the memory of making love in the living room in front of the fireplace…and he tamped it down like gunpowder, his inner emotions just as volatile. This was a bad idea. He should’ve brought a few cohorts from IT along as a buffer.

“I ask for your discretion regarding our history,” MacMillan said, “and let’s leave it at that.”

Dwight shook his head, and the words were leaving him before he even noticed them passing his lips. “You’re all about discretion, aren’t you?”

MacMillan stared at him, eyes narrowing with sudden ire. “Excuse me?”

Dwight’s heart was pounding immediately. Yup, this was a terrible idea. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Not when nearly a year’s worth of worries, fears and questions without answers were still bottled inside him, begging to come out. “It’s just, you completely locked me out. Honestly, I _still_ don’t even know what happened to your dad. One would think that’s something you’d share with your…” He couldn’t even say it.

“What do you want from me, Dwight?” MacMillan asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He practically bulged out of the suit—he’d always hated wearing jackets for that reason; it looked strange to see him in it, so constrained.

“Some honesty, I guess?” Dwight sighed, “I mean. I’ve got nothing to go on. It leaves me to think that you…”

“What?” MacMillan asked, voice deep.

“…Killed him? I don’t even know.” Dwight wasn’t even sure he could get his head around the idea that Evan was capable of cold-blooded violence, much less murder. But the man who stood before him was the same one who had slammed doors in his face, who’d refused to talk about the court proceedings following the accident, and who spent more time around his creepy lackeys from the company, Ojomo and Myers, more than his own _spouse_.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” MacMillan replied, gaze narrow and deadly.

“No, I don’t,” Dwight replied, “because you won’t _tell me_ a thing. I…it makes me feel like…”

MacMillan waited for him to continue, and the moment stretched long into the fade.

“Like you never even…” _loved me at all_ , Dwight declined to say, because it felt too pathetic, even for him. “Never mind.” He turned on his heel to leave, to find MacMillan between him and the door.

“Come here.” MacMillan put out his hand, in an unusual show of clemency, and when Dwight didn’t take it, reached out and snatched him by the arm. He pulled Dwight close, his strength uninterrupted by Dwight’s useless attempt to root himself to the floor. Dwight wouldn’t look at him, and so MacMillan growled and turned him around, so he was embracing the smaller man from behind, with two massive arms encircling his waist.

“Is that really what you think of me?” MacMillan whispered in Dwight’s ear, his breath warm over the cold cartilage, his chin pressed to Dwight’s shoulder.

Dwight shivered. It had been so long since he’d been embraced, been touched at all—dating just didn’t seem like an option, since he knew, deep inside, that no one would ever be like Evan. No one would be so bold, so strong, so uncompromising—even _that_ he adored, in contrast to his wishy-washy self. Case in point, he had promised himself to _never_ let Evan touch him again, and here he was, practically melting in his arms. He should slam his elbow into the man’s gut and flee, but instead he shuddered in the embrace, wrapping his arms about Evan’s that were holding him firmly.

“I don’t even know you anymore,” Dwight sighed, and then stiffened with surprise when MacMillan pushed bodily against him. The massive stature of him was all against Dwight’s back, and he pushed forward, bringing his groin against Dwight’s backside. A hard thing fitted there and Dwight gasped, the memory of that thing being close to him, being _inside_ him immediately filling his subconscious mind. He pawed at Evan’s arms, trying to pry him off, but the man held firm, and thrust up against his rear.

“What is there to know?” MacMillan said into his ear, tone half-way between sensuous and…something else Dwight didn’t want to acknowledge.

A hand slid into the crease in front of Dwight’s slacks, finding the zipper and tugging it down. It brought Dwight’s cock out, the shaft half-hard and reddening quickly, and Dwight let out gasp, trying to cover himself, but Evan’s arm locked around his waist rose until it was under his shoulders, and pulled him firmly back, until his spine bowed and he was entrapped. Dwight remembered then where they were—the door was closed but not locked; all it would take was a careless entrant coming into the boss’s office to expose them; Dwight’s nakedness in the middle of the small room.

He could yell for help, but he didn’t really want this to stop. He didn’t want to lose a second of Evan’s touch, his heat. He trembled when Evan grasped his cock, working it gently up and down while he pressed hard against his ass. Even through their clothes, Dwight could imagine their newlywed mornings, locked in sensual embrace, his legs around Evan’s waist, Evan’s unassailable chest heaving beneath his hands, their bodies mismatched but fitting together eagerly, not perfectly, but tightly, firmly, like they were never letting go.

Dwight stared at the desk in front of him to try to keep his mind off of those memories, focusing on the buttons on the back of the monitor, the small stack of papers, the files—as unsexy as office things were, it did nothing to distract from Evan’s warmth and passion. He let out a groan as the hand fondling his cock found the tip, swirling around it, pulling the foreskin gently back and letting it slide back to nearly cover the tip, teasing in all the right places until Dwight was panting. He held back a few errant moans, still afraid of getting caught, imagining an unwitting co-worker appearing at the door behind him, finding him in a very unprofessional pose…

He stiffened as Evan brought him to the edge, tipping his head back and gasping as he came in Evan’s hand, lightning shooting down his thighs and up across his belly, making it clench. Evan wiped his hand on a retrieved handkerchief and carefully tucked Dwight away, Dwight wincing at the attention to his sensitive organ as the fly slid deftly up over it. Evan let him go, only after planting a kiss on the back of his neck, in the sweaty curls that were growing too long at the base of his skull. Dwight shivered, swaying a little as the firm support left him and he felt cold.

Next thing Dwight knew, MacMillan was at his desk, seated behind the oaken top, reading something on his computer screen, mild-mannered as though nothing had just happened. What a _villain_ , Dwight thought, to bring Dwight up to the edge and then merely toss him off of it without so much as a word about it.

“You know who my father was,” MacMillan said cryptically, “a bigoted old fool. Not to be missed.”

Dwight gawked. He felt anger rising up in him, staining his cheeks red—even more than they already were affected. _Fuck you, Evan,_ he wanted to say, but decided against openly offending his boss on his first day—and giving the bastard the satisfaction of his pent-up frustration.

“Well, my office is on the floor below,” Dwight said, as though nothing had just happened—as though he hadn’t just had his insensitive, but unfortunately still very sexy, ex’s arms around him. Two could play the “ignore our problems” game. “Be sure to contact me if you have any issues with your _computer_.”

***

It went on like that. Dwight would find some excuse to go to the director’s office, disappear from his duties for fifteen or so minutes, being was swept away by MacMillan’s passion, and then go back to work like nothing untoward had happened. As stressful as it was to keep the secret, Dwight couldn’t lie to himself that he didn’t crave the attention: the gentle caresses, the heated gazes, the mind-shattering climaxes… It was irresponsible—to himself—to let this go on, yet he couldn’t stop.

He stood before the mahogany portal and took a big breath, letting it out through pursed lips. This was a bad idea, he knew, as already he could imagine MacMillan’s large hands on his waist and lips on his neck. He should’ve asked someone else to do the update to the boss’s computer, but it felt ridiculous that the head of IT couldn’t handle such an easy task on his own…and he was loath to give up any of MacMillan’s attention. He knocked, went inside and closed the door behind him, loudly announcing his intent to do IT-things for anyone who was listening outside.

Once he was inside, MacMillan got to his feet, and swept Dwight against him, encircling him about the middle with two trunk-like forearms. A tablet was squished between their bodies, a barrier to their intimacy Dwight held like a shield.

“I’m here to update your system,” Dwight said, looking pointedly away and at the director’s desk. It was piled with folders and duo tangs and loose papers, and the sleek-looking desktop monitor that Dwight had never touched.

MacMillan squeezed him tighter, and leaned in to nuzzle at his neck. “Of course you are.”

Dwight swooned, eyelids fluttering at the warmth of his skin, but he didn’t turn to face him. “We shouldn’t do this anymore.”

“Why not?” MacMillan muttered into his neck, planting a kiss under his ear.

“Because it doesn’t work with us, Evan,” Dwight defended firmly, though his voice had an airy, hopeful quality he couldn’t disguise. He swallowed hard, ignoring the hand that travelled up to his back, and pushing away the one that slid around his waist. “We tried it and it didn’t turn out. It’s just gonna go wrong again.”

Dwight felt hands firmly grip his waist and flinched as Evan pushed him away to arm’s length, to stare him in the face. Dwight looked cautiously back at Evan—because yes, that’s who he was, no matter how much Dwight tried to hide him under workplace propriety or the distance of a last name he’d almost nearly shared—he was _Evan_.

“ _You’re_ the one who ended it,” he replied, grey eyes piercing, “I never stopped…”

“Never stopped what?” Dwight asked, hoping for one answer but expecting another.

“Let me show you,” Evan huffed after a moment’s pause, scooping Dwight up with an arm around his waist and another beneath his bottom, walking him across the room with ease.

Dwight clutched the tablet into his chest, thinking about making some excuse about server maintenance or time-sensitive updates, but knowing it would make no difference. He was sinking into Evan so easily. Evan plucked the tablet from his hands and placed it on the floor. He had that sort of uncompromising personality that both annoyed and fascinated Dwight; he wouldn’t second-guess himself or worry what people thought—and he took what he wanted. Never forced, but didn’t give up.

Evan placed Dwight on his back on the desk, shoving aside papers and electronics in a display worthy of a movie scene, as Dwight blushed. He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit he’d been dreaming about this scene since the day he saw the new boss in that elevator, with his broad shoulders stretching his suit, clean-shaven face set firm, and grey gaze penetrating.

Dwight watched as Evan loosened and then ripped away his tie, starting on the buttons of his shirt while looking him so dead in the eye, Dwight felt he could melt into the table. He watched as more of his body was revealed, the hint of autumn sun on his skin turning pink with flush as Evan leaned over and kissed his chest, up his breastbone and across to a nipple, giving it a quick kiss. Dwight sighed and reached for Evan’s shoulders, fingers sinking into the traps that slid beneath the silk of his pewter button-down.

Dwight moaned as a hand wrapped around him through his pants, giving a few firm rubs through the fabric before spreading a massive palm across his thigh. He undid Dwight’s belt and pulled his trousers down, letting Dwight wriggle and kick until they were off, and he could massage him through his briefs. He was growing hot and hard with Evan’s firm attention, a wet spot budding on the front of the white cotton.

“Tell me you haven’t dreamed about this,” Evan insisted, a quirk growing on his scarred upper lip, as he rubbed Dwight’s thighs with two broad palms. The heat was like smoldering iron, Dwight thought hopelessly, sitting up with his arms behind him and his legs dangling over the edge of the desk. “Even though you despise me so.”

“Th-that’s not the problem,” Dwight answered, as Evan placed a kiss on his check, placing a knuckle beneath his jaw and tilting it up to mouth at his earlobe. “And I don’t despise you, Evan. I could never… it’s just…” Words were becoming more difficult to put together as the crisscross of feelings: lust and guilt especially—was calling inside his chest.

Evan squeezed Dwight through his briefs, guiding a second hand to his own pocket to withdraw a condom and packet of lube. His arousal showed through his slacks, utterly clothed where Dwight wore only his open shirt, underwear and socks. A sizeable bulge pressed out against his zipper as Evan took off his jacket and draped it over his chair. He grabbed Dwight’s knees and pulled them forward until his thighs were over the edge of the table and his back against it, with his statuesque superior stood between his legs.

“W-wait, Evan,” Dwight insisted, putting his hands up to Evan’s chest, smoothing across the breadth before squeezing his upper arms. “This is the last time. I mean it.”

Evan smirked. “Sure.”

Dwight looked soberly at his ex-husband, taking his jaw in both hands to meet his insolent stare. “Leave the condom,” he said softly, and then captured his mouth in a kiss.

Evan froze under his touch, stunned into stillness, before turning ravenously into the kiss. He tilted his head and opened his mouth for Dwight’s tongue to slide eagerly and hurriedly in, painting their kiss with frantic and excited lust. It was like they were first dating all over again, caught up in the newness and intrigue of their affair. But their bond now was deeper, and stronger, and tinted with spiteful yearning.

After that, there was fury and haste, Evan pushing Dwight over onto his back with a hand in the middle of his chest, tugging his briefs down his thighs and shoving his knees up into his chest. Dwight swooned as his feet flew up over his head, Evan handling him like a doll into position and sticking a lubed-up finger up his ass. It’d been too long, the pressure was intense, and Dwight felt his eyes roll back as the digit scoped around and found that spot inside him that made his thighs twinge and his toes curl. He choked out a moan as a second finger slid in alongside the first, doubling the stretch inside him. He gripped the sides of the desk and whined as Evan pushed his legs further into his chest until he was folded in half.

The fingers withdrew and Dwight heard the _swish_ of a zipper, and the shuffle of fabric, then Evan’s deep, low breath. He looked between his knees to see one of Evan’s large hands on the back of his thigh, and the other wrapped around his own cock, giving it a slow polishing. It was big, and dark, and shiny with lube as it slid through Evan’s fingers, growing thicker with each stroke.

“Come on,” Dwight pleaded, mouth dry. He spread himself with his hands.

Evan let out a growl, then grabbed him by the hips and turned him over onto his front. Dwight yelped as his feet found the floor and his hands the desk, so he was bent over the table, rear exposed and lifted, back arching, awaiting the inevitable. He flinched when Evan gripped his hip, heated fingers sinking into the flesh of his belly and pulling him back. The firm tip of Evan’s cock pressed to his entrance, and then shoved in, slipping up his slicked tunnel in one startling movement.

Dwight swore and dropped his head between his shoulders as he felt the cock fill out inside him, desperately trying to relax and accept every inch of incredible girth. He swallowed thickly, barely used to the stretch when Evan pulled out and then heaved back in, and Dwight’s body was forced to accept his entire length again. A few more thrusts like that and Dwight was near collapsing, his arms trembling beneath him, his knees bucking. Evan grabbed his waist to hold him up as he fucked him without relent.

Dwight whimpered and threw back his head as the cock speared deep in him, the arch of his back making a path for it to dive in deeper, until the stretch and push was so perfect he was nearly shaking. His skin ran hot, feverish with desire, and when Evan pulled back a bit and worked at that button inside him that undid him, he _sobbed_ his lover’s name.

Dwight choked out loving nonsense as Evan’s hand that wasn’t white-knuckling his hip reached around to stroke him, giving a few fast, quick pulls that had Dwight howling for more. He’d forgotten entirely where they were, and how someone could walk in and come upon the new boss banging the hell out of some tech from downstairs, but he could hardly care—Evan made him reckless, made him fiery. He bucked back and practically _ordered_ Evan to come inside him, keening as he spilled over Evan’s big hand.

Once his partner was taken care of, Evan pulled him back over his cock and started slamming into him rapid-fire, breathing hard and moaning low. Dwight struggled to stay upright and keep his thighs from hitting the side of the desk, his arms going stiff where they gripped the outside edges deeply enough to engrave. He dreamed about Evan’s fingers making bruises in his skin that he could admire later, and be able to remember his indomitable lust and _power_. After a few last fast, hard pumps, his thighs slapping against Dwight’s ass, Evan came, loudly letting out a breath. He slid in and out slowly a few last times, driving his spend deep enough into Dwight’s body he’d be finding it hours later.

It suited Dwight just fine. It’d be a vestige to remember him by.

Evan pulled out and dabbed them both off with wipes from his desk, replacing his pants and rolling up his sleeves before settling down in the chair and collapsing back into it. Dwight slid down until his knees creased under him, his head resting in his arms, folded on the desk. He closed his eyes, quickly regretting his decision to go raw—he could feel Evan’s spend dripping out of his clenching hole, and still expected to head back to work and finish his shift? He was really too impulsive around Evan. Thank god they were over.

Dwight sighed into his arms, his glasses fogging. “We went too fast, didn’t we? Marrying after knowing each other for just a year? I mean, we should’ve known.”

Evan didn’t answer, just undid his tie and a few buttons of his shirt, which still fit obscenely around his shoulders and pecs. He looked up at the ceiling.

“I’m not an impulsive person,” Dwight said. It took him weeks to decide what kind of oven to buy, even while the old one sat there, broken, and he made all of his meals in the microwave. “But for some reason, I…it had to be you.”

“Why did you call me, that first time?” Evan asked, his ignorance only serving to highlight how disastrous their relationship had been.

“I guess,” Dwight thought about it for a moment. He’d had months—years to figure that answer out for himself. He’d figured it was adrenaline: being forced into close association by a common villain simply made him want to reach for the first familiar thing. Yet… “I thought if I didn’t, you would slip away. I couldn’t deal with that. And in the end, you slipped away, anyway…”

Dwight wiped his forehead on the back of his wrist. He sat slouched there and pondered how long it would take for his back to start hurting and his feet to go to pins-and-needles. He apologized to his body, and his heart. Evan was silent for a long moment, while Dwight wondered how he was going to get dressed.

“It was an accident,” Evan said, suddenly. He scratched the back of his hand with a finger. “He was…a lunatic, but I…I did…”

Dwight turned to the other cheek to look at him sideways, to brow furrowing in confusion. “What was an accident? Evan?”

Evan let out a deep sigh, like something he’d been holding for weeks, maybe years. His chest rose and deflated again beneath his shirt, thoroughly wrinkled by rough treatment. “After the accident in the mine, I went to confront him. I just…had a feeling he had something to do with it. When I got into the control room, he was tight-lipped, but it didn’t take long to figure it out. He’d told the foreman that the charges weren’t planted yet, and then he…”

Dwight listened intently. Was this the truth he’d been looking for? With the miserable look on Evan’s face, he thought perhaps he didn’t actually want to hear it after all. But he listened, calmly and respectfully, as Evan went on, thinking he probably needed to be heard as much as Dwight needed to hear him.

“We got in an argument. I was angry as _hell_ ,” Evan continued. “I… This was the man who _broke my jaw_ when I was thirteen. This was the man who never said a nice thing once in his life. He called me worthless and weak like they were my second names. This was the man who beat my mother so severely, her arm _never_ worked right again until the day she died. This man, he…

“The stairs were right there, and I pushed him down them. He fell and hit his head, and that was it,” Evan said.

He fell silent again, his gaze towards his hands, limp in his lap. Dwight’s chest swelled with, oddly, sympathy. He had an awful, nagging feeling that that was what happened, and surprisingly, he wasn’t bothered by that part of the story. He just… wanted Evan back to the way he was, before the awful weight dragged him down, before the slammed doors, the constant fear and stress.

“So…what about the NDA?” Dwight asked softly.

“The board said they could get me out of charges if I facilitated a…redistribution of company assets. I was scared, I guess, or ashamed, I don’t know, but I agreed. I bought my freedom—I was sole inheritor, after all. It was _all_ mine, and now it’s…barely even a company anymore.” Evan sighed. “And I could give a shit about the money. But the legacy… it’s nothing, now.”

“Evan,” Dwight stood up and pulled on his shorts and slacks. He sat on the edge of the desk so he could look Evan in his solemn face. “Why did you think you had to keep it from me?” Did he ever do anything to make Evan doubt his trust, or his empathy? Dwight hoped not. But maybe he wasn’t the only one who struggled to communicate when they were together.

“What do you want from me?” Evan replied, raising his hands emphatically. “To go to prison? That’s pretty much my only other option.”

“What do _you_ want?” Dwight asked. He put his hand on Evan’s, drawing it towards him, placing it in his lap and squeezing firmly. Evan’s pewter gaze flicked down to their joined grasp and back up to his face. “Because it seems like you’re not happy with this. You feel so weighed down.”

Evan sighed and stroked his palm over his scalp. “I want this guilt gone. I want to be free from it. Even if it means I lose whatever speck of dignity I have left…”

Dwight gave him a curt smile and made to stand up. That was one thing he’d respected about Evan—he never needed coddling, and so Dwight never gave him any, and Evan extended him the same courtesy. He didn’t want some big, wobbly-lipped apology. If he could see Evan restored to the same unbreakable, unflinching titan of a man he’d fallen for with all that time ago, then that would be enough.

As he tried to pull his hand away, however, Evan squeezed it tightly.

“So, what if I end up a criminal?” Evan said bluntly, “what if they make me out to be a killer, and lock me up? Would you still be seen with me?”

Dwight stared. Then a small smile—genuine—came over his face. This was probably the closest Evan would come to a confession. He remembered fondly Evan’s marriage proposal, and how it was delivered in between banal comments about work and what was for dinner: “I suppose we should make it official,” was all he said, and Dwight wished nothing better from his beloved, though emotionally stunted, partner.

“I suppose I could make a concession,” Dwight muttered, “are you willing to give us another shot?”

“Like I said,” Evan said calmly, “I never stopped.” He got to his feet and swept Dwight into an embrace, wrapping arms about his shoulders as Dwight’s came up around his back and hugged him tightly. Dwight’s cheek pressed to his lover’s chest, and he smiled as broadly as he had in years.

***

The security footage clearly showed that Evan was exercising self-defence. Dwight didn’t want to watch it, at first, afraid of what he would see, but the recording, as it played on the projector in the courtroom, clearly showed the elder MacMillan lunging at his son with intent to harm him. Aged though he was, feeble and small he was not, and he could’ve done Evan serious injury, especially with the iron he brandished in his left hand. The recording showed Evan shoving him, and then silently rushing to aid the patriarch when he fell still on the steel floor of the control room.

The footage left a sinking feeling in Dwight’s stomach, but what worried him more was the sunken expression on Evan’s face as he sat in the defendant’s stand. He looked heavy and gaunt, and Dwight wanted nothing more than to hurry to his side.

He did so immediately as court adjourned, the verdict “not guilty” for the charge of manslaughter. Dealing with the fallout of breaking the contract with the board would be another grueling, months-long affair, but for now, Evan was free. Dwight rushed to embrace him on the courthouse steps, pushing past a few over-excited reporters to sweep him into a hug.

There came another new director quickly to replace Evan. He was a severe, mean-looking sort, but Dwight scarcely minded fixing the various problems with his email, when Evan came to pick him up from work every day. The Maserati was downgraded, and the look of Evan’s long legs stepping out of the admittedly low vehicle was charmingly silly, but Dwight could hardly care. He was enamoured again. Special, to someone, again. Though, he supposed he had never stopped being so.


End file.
